what's living, if not about offering
life what it is one wants
from it? it is not, unless we have the
different story- the
enduring of life; limbo. they say
it gets better, and they tell you
to trust you when they say
it gets better. the sky lowers. i grab
a cloud-fluff, lifting into a sky
that is there for you, actively involved
in mediating struggles
as well as always overseeing.
love was never enough. love lives
face-pressed against glass wall and acts
like a drug from around
the block. love
is a discrepancy
yet to be figured out. it is always
love, you are too much of an emotional
purist for absolute worship.
the soul itself
is what constitutes my unconditional
the soul is the multiverse. i balance
in the present, stretching arms past either side
whatever isn't wanting-
wanting, being that
obstacle i ought to see past; the longing
to navigate away from.
i may very well simply be
stretching my arms from myself,
knocked out of the awakening-function-
orgasm weak and hurt.
toward introducing myself to
the innermost-desire: step one
of what i want from life:
to meditate. seems fair.
get in touch with reality. without
ever wanting to leave it.